


Five Times Tony is Ignorant About Steve’s Coming From the 40s and One Time He Isn’t (Well, Only a Little Bit Anyway)

by Buckysaur



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cute, Five Times, Fluff, M/M, Silly, SteveTonyFest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckysaur/pseuds/Buckysaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the Avengers’ constant jokes (Tony) and concerns (Bruce) about the fact, they often still seemed to forget that Steve came pretty much straight from the 1940s.</p><p>It should have been nice, in a way, that his background wasn’t a problem, but it was also confusing and at times very frustrating when someone forgot.</p><p>Perhaps the worst part about it was that they weren’t actually <i>forgetting</i> either. Part of it was ignorance as well, which was not an easy thing to call Tony Stark out on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jjournal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjournal/gifts).



> SteveTony Fest gift for jjournal/doyoutwofondu!
> 
> I hope you like it ^^
> 
> (All typo'd words-that-he-doesn't-understand in Steve's dialogue are like that on purpose.)

Despite the Avengers’ constant jokes (Tony) and concerns (Bruce) about the fact, they often still seemed to forget that Steve came pretty much straight from the 1940s.

It should have been nice, in a way, that his background wasn’t a problem, but it was also confusing and at times very frustrating when someone forgot.

Perhaps the worst part about it was that they weren’t actually _forgetting_ either. Part of it was ignorance as well, which was not an easy thing to call Tony Stark out on.

 

* * *

 

“Cap! Hey, Cap!”

Steve, who had been struggling with the infamous ‘other eye,’ looked up from his sketchbook. “Oh, hey, Tony,” he greeted the excitedly grinning man who’d come up to him. “Something the matter?”

Tony’s face was wearing that typical expression of his that could have a variety of meanings anywhere from ‘I’ve invented something clever’ to ‘I’ve found a new way to set the kitchen on fire,’ (which Tony, for some strange and reasonably concerning reason, appeared to view as interchangeable.) “Nothing, it’s just a nice day so I was wondering if you’d join me and Clint—” Steve had long since given up on correcting Tony to ‘insert-human-being-here and _I,_ ’ “—for a Frisbee game in the park?”

“A what?” Steve inquired with a frown.

“A Frisbee game.” When Steve remained patiently silent, Tony continued, “What, is your hearing deteriorating with age already? Do I need to fix you some hearing aids?” he quipped with a teasing grin that Steve knew far too well.

The soldier suppressed an agitated sigh (although only barely) and clarified, “No, like you very well know, there’s nothing wrong with my ears. But as you so subtly pointed out I’m old enough to be your father, so what in the hell is a frisbee game?”

Tony shot him a dumbfounded look, which didn’t happen very often. “JARVIS,” he began then – easily jumping from one conversation to another, “in what year was the Frisbee invented?”

“1948, sir,” JARVIS supplied helpfully.

Steve shot Tony a long and pointed look, which Tony returned with one of such utter exasperation that it worried Steve.

“But— you— _how do you not know?!_ You—” Tony let go of a sort of howl of frustration and then shook his head. “Oh, you poor soul – you more or less _invented_ it. Come on, you’ll love this,” he said then, pulling at Steve’s arm.

Steve sighed, but closed his sketchbook. As Tony turned around and strutted to the elevator, Steve couldn’t resist smiling. No matter how ignorant Tony could be, at least he meant well. (Usually.)


	2. The Second Time

Despite being eager to learn more about the 21st century, Steve was more than content with remaining blissfully ignorant about most of the things Tony talked about. Therefore, he didn’t mind simply going with the smile-and-nod technique whenever the engineer went on another verbal rampage about something techy.

The real problem, however, came when Tony crossed the invisible line between ‘not understandable in the least, but obviously technology’ and just plain ‘not understandable.’

That day, Tony had not just crossed the line, no, he had catapulted himself across it – waltzing around in the air in a red-and-gold tutu. So, as Tony told the story, Steve really couldn’t do anything but give a polite nod every other sentence.

“—so, there’s a drunk Thor on the trapeze singing about fair maidens and the not-so-innocent things they do. Then there’s Spidey – Clint invited him by the way – who’s more or less breakdancing around the gym on his fingertips trying to impress a bewildered Jane, right?”

Steve hummed, smiling a bit, glad that there was finally a part of the story that he could comprehend – if not actually _understand_.

“Right! I mean…! And then there’s Natasha and Clint, and they are – and this is the best part – they are standing in the corner, and Nat is teaching Clint how to hula-hoop. I mean – can you imagine?! Clint! Hula-hooping!” Tony shot him his that-was-the-punch-line-I-expect-you-to-laugh-now look, but Steve couldn’t muster anything other than a confused, questioning smile.

Steve had a good imagination; it was something he was honestly quite proud of, and it often helped him in preparing missions and thinking ahead. ‘Hoola-hooping,’ however, was something that he couldn’t even _begin_ to picture. “Uh, what?” he asked in the end, shaking his head lightly as he shot Tony another questioning look.

Tony blinked, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend the fact that Steve wasn’t laughing at his – presumably hilarious – story. “Hula-hooping! Natasha and _Clint_!” Tony threw his arms up in the air and performed a sort of impromptu hip-thrusting dance that made Steve’s cheeks flush.

He quickly looked away, trying his very best not to think about what he had just seen – that couldn’t possibly have any good effects. “Uhm, right – I don’t know what you are doing, but… could you please stop?”

Steve heard the sound of Tony letting his arms fall, so he figured it’d be safe to look again. Thankfully, it was. Tony was staring at him with a sort of wide eyed shocked look on his face. “JARVIS? Is this another one of those…” he made a hand gesture that Steve had once heard Clint describe as ‘wibbely-wobbely.’ He had no idea what that meant either, – or if it even had a meaning at all – but it seemed appropriate for what it looked like. “After-grandpa-Steve’s-time things?”

“Hula-hoops were invented in 1958, sir,” JARVIS spoke from the ceiling.

Tony shook his head, and without a word he grabbed a hold of Steve’s arm and started dragging him in the direction of what Steve assumed to be the gym, all the while muttering something about ‘mandatory hip-thrust practice,’ which Steve wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know about. Against his knowing that he should know better, he let Tony drag him along.


	3. The Third Time

There was something about Tony’s workshop that Steve really liked. And although he wasn’t entirely sure what it was, it meant that he spent a lot of time there, curled up on one of the comfortable sofas along the wall with a sketchbook, a regular book or a StarkPad, which could function as either.

Perhaps it was the messiness of the place, which gave it a sort of homey feel to it. It wasn’t like the rest of the Avengers tower _wasn’t_ messy, – with all the superheroes living in it, that was more or less impossible to achieve – it was just that the _kind_ of messiness was different. Almost _friendlier_ , in a way.

(It could also be the fact that it almost always had Tony in it. Genuinely smiling, laughing, _happy_ Tony. Joyful in a way that Steve didn’t often see him outside of his workshop. Then again, that was a bit of a creepy reason to like a room, so he decided that it probably wasn’t that.)

The important thing was that, for whatever reason, Steve felt comfortable in the workshop, and against his initial grim expectations, Tony always welcomed him inside. Sometimes Steve even helped him with his inventions, doing some extremely heavy lifting or providing an additional human hand whenever Tony needed it, and like that they had grown into a sort of natural rhythm of working together. (The fact that, most of the time, Steve had no idea what exactly he was working _on_ , didn’t seem to matter.)

“Steve, can you hand me that screw and a post-it?” Tony asked, leaning over some sort of bright orange device.

“Sure, hold on,” Steve said, putting aside his StarkPad and jumping up from the sofa. He took a screw out of the box closest to Tony, assuming that was the kind the man needed, and then hovered over a collection of wrenches and screwdrivers and other things on the worktop. Sadly, none of them were labelled, so Steve just used his common sense and some context clues, and held up a few of the screwdrivers. “Which of these is a post-it?”

Distractedly, Tony looked up. For a second he frowned, and then he burst out in laughter, promptly almost dropping the orange _thing_ on his toes. At Steve’s clueless, questioning look, he hiccupped a few times, trying to regain his composure. “Post-it notes, Steve. _Post-it notes._ Please don’t tell me…?”

Steve, who was by now growing used to the seemingly always returning subject, glanced up at the ceiling. “JARVIS?” he asked.

The AI, probably also getting used to the fact that Tony still hadn’t bothered to check all the things that had been invented _after_ 1942, helpfully said, “The bright yellow stack of note papers, Captain. They have glue on the bottom, so they can easily be stuck on objects. They’re called post-it notes; invented in 1974.”

Steve looked around and recognised the notes that he had already seen on the communal fridge several times. “Got it, thanks J!” he said with a smile, after which he handed Tony the things he had asked for.


	4. The Fourth Time

“Do you want to order something to eat?” Tony asked, as he laid down slumped over the sofa in the living room. “I don’t feel like cooking, and Nat and Clint – who have _no_ taste nor _any_ idea how to handle having all but infinite money – took Thor to McDonald’s, and I think that if I make you cook for me one more time, Bruce might actually _strangle_ me for taking ‘advantage’ of your… general being. So… takeout?”

Steve blinked slowly, taking a second to process the various trains of thought the things Tony called ‘sentences’ always provoked, and then chuckled. “Yeah, sure, why not. Shall I order shawarma?” he suggested.

Tony shot him a happy, toothy grin. “I have taught you well, young padawan.”

Steve rolled his eyes at the Star Wars reference (Clint had shown him the movie) and picked up his StarkPad from the coffee table to place an online order with the local Shawarma Palace.

When he was done, he put the Pad down on his lap and stretched lazily. Much like Tony, he was also sprawled across a sofa, as they had spent the entire afternoon criticising (and repeatedly trying to convince each other and themselves that they really didn’t enjoy) Jersey Shore.

“Hey, Tony,” he said after a short moment of silence, “who’s this McDonald person you guys keep arguing about? Is it someone from SHIELD?”

Tony shot him a blank look. “No. Neh-neh-neh-neh- _no_. Don’t tell me you don’t know what McDonald’s is. That has literally been around for _forever._ I’m pretty sure it was around in the dark ages. Also quite possibly the _cause_ of the dark ages.”

When Steve didn’t reply, Tony let go of one of his ‘why-must-you-hurt-me-so’ exasperated whines and then said, “J? McDonald’s? Please tell me it was _indeed_ the cause of the dark ages.”

“I regret to inform you that you are incorrect, sir. McDonald’s was founded in 1954,” JARVIS said.

Tony sat up on the couch. “Right, crappy hamburger incoming – J, please send someone out to get Steve a happy meal? With a My Little Tony poy – eh, Pony toy – please. I’m still missing Rainbow Dash.”


	5. The Fifth Time

Because he was Tony, Tony had somehow hacked (“Nobody says _hack_ anymore, Steve. Seriously, you may be from the 40s but you’re _not_ getting away with that.”) into Steve’s StarkPad and edited their shawarma order to include drinks as well. (“Tony, we have drinks in our fridge.” “Yes, but that’s in the kitchen!” “Which is fifteen feet away.” “My point.”)

The drinks, however, had come in _cans_ , which Steve was currently dubiously staring at. _Why would they still put_ drinks _in cans?_ he thought to himself, _That’s so impractical!_

“Tony?” he asked, looking up, “Do you have a can opener for these?”

Tony let his head fall face-first into a pillow.

Steve was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “JARVIS?”

“In 1975 Daniel F. Cudzik invented what is called the ‘push-through tab’ for drink cans. I’m certain that sir can guide you through how to use them.”

With a sigh, Tony sat up and showed Steve how to push the tab through the can, and then drink from it without cutting his lips. Steve thought it was a brilliant invention, and said so. Tony grinned and agreed, “Yeah, it’s definitely something I could have thought of myself.”

“Too bad these didn’t exist back when I was in the army. That could have made carrying drinks a lot easier,” Steve mused.

“It’s funny that they weren’t. In fact, it’s funny that a lot of things you don’t know about didn’t exist back then.”

“I guess there’s a lot of things people are so used to that they take them for granted,” Steve said, thinking back to when he’d first used tooth paste instead of powder. He wondered if Tony – smart as he was – even knew that there had ever _not_ been toothpaste.

“Yeah, I guess,” Tony said, looking down at his own can, which he was twirling around so that its contents slowly _swished_ from side to side. “Like being liked.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, but Tony didn’t go into the subject any further.


	6. The One Time That He Only Did It a Little Bit

It was three weeks later when Tony was suddenly standing in front of Steve babbling on about ‘the thing with the cans and the being liked’ at such a rapid pace that Steve physically had to put a finger over Tony’s lips to force the man to take a break for air.

When he did, Steve leaned back, looking at Tony with concern in his eyes. “Are you alright? You’re a kind of… grey colour.”

Tony fidgeted with his hands and feet and mumbled a few unintelligible words. Steve sighed and took Tony by his upper arm, gently pulling him over to the softest of the sofas in his room. When they were both sitting down Steve shot Tony a questioning look. “Okay, now tell me what you were talking about, and don’t forget to breathe in between the words this time.”

Tony sighed and looked down at his knees, for the first time since Steve had met him, plain refusing to meet his eyes. “Remember the things that people take for granted because they’re so used to it and then suddenly it’s not so normal anymore and they just get confused and stuck because they want things and they’re not that obvious and—”

“Oxygen, Tony, oxygen. It’s a thing that you need,” Steve reminded him. “Also, I don’t quite remember the conversation being like that.”

“Look – Steve,” Tony looked up at him with a sort of urgency in his eyes that Steve hadn’t seen in there before. “I—I know this must be weird, especially since things were different back in your time, and, I just… I don’t know how to—” he combed a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

Steve’s throat had gone strangely tight, and he swallowed thickly, telling himself that he was clearly imagining things. There was just _no way_ that Tony—just— _no._ “What is it?”

“It’s—you probably don’t even know, but, things are different now than they were back then and—”

“Spill it, you’re seriously making me nervous now,” Steve ordered, ignoring his leg, which was bouncing up and down uncontrollably. He pressed his knee closer to the couch in an attempt to stop himself from shaking.

Tony’s eyes were so beautiful.

“Will you go on a date with me? I—I swear no one will think it’s weird. No one. It’s— I mean, if you _want_ to, with me, it’d be alright. It won’t be like back in your time. Not that I think that you have—you know— _done those_ _things_.”

Steve closed his eyes. Opened them again. Tony was still there, looking up at him with a hopeful shimmer in his eyes. (Beautiful eyes.)

“Yes. Yes, please, yes. I—” he could feel a faint blush creep up his neck to his cheeks. He glanced away, but then immediately up again. “I would like that.”

He didn’t tell Tony that things hadn’t been all _that_ different back then – although certainly _far_ from the same. He _did_ , at some point, tell Tony that he had beautiful eyes though.

It didn’t take long until he also discovered that Tony had surprisingly soft lips.

(And, yes, Tony completed his My Little Tony – eh, Pony – collection later that year.)

 

~ fin ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to bobhasrainbowveins for beta-reading each chapter on grammar as I wrote them, you are awesome!


End file.
